


Cactus Blues

by Queertrees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dean is a Cactus and Sam is a Snake, Fluff, M/M, Other, Swearing, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queertrees/pseuds/Queertrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew what he was. Who’d want something covered in thorns?</p><p>AKA the one where Dean is a cactus Sam is a rattlesnake and Cas is a wren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cactus Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MajorEnglishEsquire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/gifts).



Not many things can live here. 

Not many things even try. 

There was a snake once. A long time ago. But he’d fucked that up. It had been born in the shadow of his arms. Newly hatched and slithering around like a dumbass, shakin’ his tail at every shadow. A hawk had swooped down from on high, talons poised and wings wide. The snake darted to the base of the cactus and curled around it, and the hawk pulled back- stopped on a dime in midair and turned tail, fleeing from the cactus’ thorns. The cactus was surprised that the snake had been that quick on its feet. Well, belly. He chuckled deep in the core of his trunk. Good for the snake. Birds were dicks, anyway. 

After that, the snake always kept close to the cactus. Lay in his shade as it digested whatever the hell snakes eat. The cactus towered over it, looking as menacing as he could for any would-be predators who even  _tried_  thinking about making a move on his snake. This went on for years. He grew out his spines. A little too long. The snake was takin’ a snooze one day and curled a little closer in his sleep. It nicked itself on the cactus and jumped awake, hissing and rattling, looking murderous and betrayed. It slithered away out of sight, despite the cactus yelling after it that it had been its own damn fault and it’s not even like he was a poisonous cactus, anyway. But the snake didn’t hear- the cactus didn’t even know if the snake could hear things like cacti- and the cactus didn’t see it so much after that. 

Whatever. Snakes were dicks, too. And if there’s one thing a cactus is good at, it’s not needing  _shit_  to help it get by. He could go without water for years; he sure as hell didn’t need validation from some stupid rattler. 

It was a big desert, anyway. Or so he’d heard. Little guy was probably better off out there. He knew what he was. Who’d want something covered in thorns? 

The cactus stretched himself over the great Sonoran desert and into the great Sonora sky. Worms and insects burrowed through him, and calluses hardened around their holes. He grew gnarled and brown and flesh-piercing sharp. At night he listened to the wail of the desert; of things eating and fucking and chasing and birthing and dying and growing and breaking. 

It was morning. The cactus didn’t sleep, but mornings still felt like awakenings. As the sun heated up one long side of him, he felt something tickle in the crook of his arms. A tiny brown and white bird had perched on his sunny side, its feet planted among his spines as if they presented no danger whatsoever. Its plump, fluffy breast was covered in dark brown speckles, almost like it was covered in spikes, too. The cactus stared in amazement at the gall of this bird, sat there like he owned the damn place.

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?” the cactus asked pointedly. The bird turned his head towards the cactus and cocked it to the side. 

“No seriously, get the hell outta here, bird. Go nest in some other shrub.” 

The bird, in lieu of an answer, cocked his head to the other side and wiggled its body down, like it couldn’t have been more at home if it tried. Well, don’t come cryin’ to me when you get yourself impaled, the cactus thought. 

The sun passed overhead and around the other side, and still the little bird refused to give up its roost in the cactus. Maybe it can’t understand me, the cactus thought, and rattled his spines at the bird. The bird stood up on its tiptoes, looking affronted, before settling right back down. Stubborn little jerk. 

“Look, that  _can’t_  be comfortable. Just…. buzz off, ok? I haven’t even bloomed in years; if you’re waitin’ around for fruit you are barkin’ up the wrong tree. I got nothin’ for you.” 

The bird hopped up to where two arms grew close to each other and fluttered across to the other one. The cactus noticed it flew a little crooked when it did. Dumb bird, can’t even fly right. 

A while later the cactus saw the bird was still flying with a limp. One of its wings, when outstretched, had a weird bend in it, like the bird couldn’t straighten it out all the way. 

“How’d you get yourself busted up, huh? You pick a fight with something bigger than you? Ya know, like a beetle?” The bird shook its head. 

“What then? You fall outta your nest?” The bird drew its wings tight around itself and burrowed its head into its chest. 

The cactus reminded himself that the little busted bird was probably gonna be a coyote  _hors d’oeuvre_  any day now, and conversing with it wasn’t gonna do anybody any good. So the cactus let it be, and definitely didn’t miss it at all when it left for a few hours each day to look for twigs and trash to build its nest. He definitely didn’t chuckle to himself as the bird flapped its crooked little self around, foraging for bugs in the leaves and brush around the cactus. The cactus definitely didn’t spend any of his energy hollowing out little spaces within himself so the bird could get some sleep without some night creature chomping on it. The cactus definitely didn’t try to grow a little brighter and a little greener, just so that damn bird would stay with him. 

One morning the sun felt like something different. Felt like the morning after rain, though it hadn’t rained in years. Felt like all mornings packed into one. The little bird squeaked and hopped and fluttered and the cactus couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on, until he looked at himself, and saw white flowers at the tops of his trunk and arms- white trumpets opening to the sky. The bird dipped excitedly into each, flitting here and there with its face covered in pollen. “Damn, you are one messy eater,” the cactus laughed, as the bird returned from one of its forays away. It was buzzing around like a baby hummingbird on a sugar high. “Easy there, champ.”

It had been so long since this had happened that the cactus had almost forgot the process. As the flowers peaked and withered, their bases grew fat, until one day the bird nudged the cactus to look, and the cactus saw full, red fruit covering him. The little bird cocked its head at the cactus before turning its full attention to the fruit. The cactus felt over-full of pride, felt a desperate need to give all he had to the little bird.  _For you, for you, for you_ _._  

At nights he could feel the bird sleeping in his hollow spaces, warm and soft, heart whirring and feathers matted with juice. “Thanks for barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

The desert was always chattering, always loud. But the cactus didn’t miss it when one afternoon the bird hollered its cackling cry. The cactus, grumbling, shook himself into awareness and looked to what the bird was freakin’ out about. It was the snake, sliding back after all these years. It had grown long and sleek, with green-brown diamonds tessellating down its back. The cactus, had he been granted the ability to move freely, would have been rooted to the spot. As it was, he was extremely surprised. Through his wary hope, he also felt a stab of panic for his bird. The snake approached the cactus slowly, winding into a rising upward coil. Its tongue flickered threateningly, and the cactus felt his spines prickling into a protective barrier around the bird, even as he wanted to show the snake that it wouldn’t get hurt around him again. 

The bird took off suddenly, hovering in midair above the snake. 

It took a shit on the snake’s head. 

The snake cast a dubious and ever so slightly amused eye at bird and then the cactus, as if to say  _Nice friends you’re hanging out with these days, jerk._  The bird settled back onto the tips of the cactus’ arms. The snake coiled back to the ground, and instead of sliding away, stretched himself calmly at the cactus’ base. The cactus felt the strength of his roots up through his spine and out to the tips of his trunk and each of his arms. He stood up a little straighter, so the shadow cast over the snake was longer and would shelter him even in the hottest hours of the day. The snake never went after the bird after that, even leaving it in peace as it waddle-hopped in a dust bath right near the snake. The cactus sighed. Birds, snakes- buncha dumbasses, the pair of them. What the hell would they do without him?

Many things live here. They grow and they thrive. And the most treasured inhabitants of this saguaro are a rattlesnake snoozing at its roots and a little cactus wren perched snug as a bug in a rug at its peak.

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of [this](http://chuckwinchester.tumblr.com/post/97925648383/hey-my-parents-have-a-bird-calendar-and-september) exchange and [this](http://queertrees.tumblr.com/post/97751469374) picture.


End file.
